


Edges

by Nyxierose



Series: Through A Looking Glass [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic, F/M, Parallel Universes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-21 10:10:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4824971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxierose/pseuds/Nyxierose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They'd be such a damn rom-com, she can't help thinking, if they weren't such tragedies as individual beings."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She just wants to kiss him. That's it. Really.

They're curled up on her battered Ikea-should-not-last-long-enough-to-be-purchased-secondhand couch like they always are on Friday nights, his hands absently in her hair and her head dangerously on his chest. They'll stay like this for hours, like they always do, and then she'll wander off to bed and he'll try to sleep on the couch but then one of them will have some sort of nightmare and they'll end up entwined on the floor and whisper kindnesses to each other until a more peaceful sleep comes. They have a _routine_ , and she has no idea what'll happen tomorrow but she's completely sure of the next ten hours of her life and it's beautiful.

They'd be such a damn rom-com, she can't help thinking, if they weren't such tragedies as individual beings. Her, the chick who got pregnant at seventeen and four years later spends almost all of her time either working every shift she can get at the diner or chasing a three-year-old daughter who inherited the dangerous part of her spirit. Him, the outsider three years clean but still tempted and haunted, quiet strength under a protective cloak of intimidation. The two of them, probable soulmates though neither of them will ever be brave enough to say those words. But god, she wants to.

Octavia is curled up on a geometric-print abomination of a couch, practically on top of the only real friend she has, and she wants to see where this could actually go. She hasn't been with anyone since she found out she was pregnant with Kaylee, and four years is a really long time - a fifth of her life, sometimes she forgets how young she still is - and it's for the best if she stays away from boys but Lincoln is _different_. He's kind, he's such fire even though he doesn't let himself see it, he puts her back together when she episodes and okay yes their relationship is _mutually_ codependent at times but she reckons that's how proper relationships ought to be. Not like she'd know, but she wants to find out. She wants to know everything about him, not just the weird shit. She wants him to tear her apart and make her whole. She _wants_.

"Tae?" His hands abruptly still in her hair - never a bad sign when the petting stops, always means he's about to say something that'll fuck with her brain for a week. He's pretty quiet about his past, more quiet than her at least but that isn't saying much, but everything he's told her has made her cry. And right now, with her eyes fixated on the softness of his lips, that is the _last_ thing she needs.

"Yeah?" Maybe it's something minor, maybe he needs her to move so he can go use the bathroom or something, maybe it's an insignificant detail. She can let herself hope.

"You remember how we met, right?"

"Yeah." Like she could forget. Her eighteenth birthday, two months after she found out she was not alone in her body, one of the top five worst days she's ever had at work and she was actually _crying_ when an unfamiliar person walked in ten minutes before she got off and she didn't even try to pretend otherwise. Anyone else would've had a problem; this one, eyes brighter than the sun with deep circles underneath, was the first person to genuinely ask if she was alright and if she needed to talk. How that led to where they are now, she's not totally sure, but it's something beautiful.

"I don't think you do," he breathes, and she can hear the sadness coming well before it begins.

"You were nice to me, you weren't judgey, you were _perfect_ , you were-"

"You don't remember."

Her body tenses with worry. "What am I supposed to be remembering?"

"The collision of skin, screams, bad life choices and ecstasy and-"

"No, we've never-"

His eyes are staring black holes into the carpet, and she can _feel_ the regret pulsing through his body. "Yeah."

She's considered this option before, always in fleeting thoughts. She's not entirely sure who the other person responsible for the existence of her daughter is, only that she didn't really know them, and Kaylee's look does point in some directions more than others but there are still _options_. Octavia's got eyes and a keen understanding of her past social circle, and genetics are weird, and she never saw the use on dwelling on this one particular potential. Except apparently it's a lot more than a potential. _Fuck_.

"Why are you telling me?" she asks, reaching forward and tilting his chin so he _has_ to look at her.

"Because I only processed it a week ago. That was a strange night, and… I'd blocked it out, blamed it on the monster I was, but… I ruined your life, Tae. I dragged you down with me."

"No," she breathes. "No, you… you found me when I was shattered and you told me I was going to be okay and you _meant_ it and-"

"It was my own fault and I-"

"Listen to me," she breathes, cupping his face in her shaking hands. "I'm not sure how we happened. I'm not sure how my kid happened, but she's asleep in the other room and she's _happy_ and I think we're doing this thing okay and… and god, this isn't how I planned to tell you but I'm kinda falling in love with you."

With that, she kisses him. For the first few seconds, it's every bit as sweet as she ever hoped. Then, out of the blue, images start flooding her brain.

_Him, tied up._

_Him, lifting her up and spinning her around before passionately kissing her._

_Him, dying._

_Other images too, other faces and names she now knows, but it all comes back to him._

_Him, not dead after all, breathing her name._

_Him, lying still as her hands map the scars on his naked body._

_Him, wrapping his body around hers for protection as a terrible explosion hits_.

"What. The. Fuck." She looks at her friend and partner, who's clearly seen something equally troubling. "What just happened?"

Lincoln doesn't speak, doesn't open his eyes, doesn't react to her.

"Can you hear me? Did you have the same weird experience that I did or-"

"We survived," he breathes, pulling her close again. "We're the lucky ones. We were further from the blast than the others, I should've known."

"Others? As in this shit is-"

"I don't know, Octavia. We were put here four and a half years ago, and that's all I know."

"'Least I've got you," she whispers against his skin.

"'Least I've got you," he repeats.

They were the lucky ones, and as she lets herself fall asleep in her eternal lover's arms, she wonders exactly how fucked the others are…

 


	2. Luminous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alternate perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this because @queenofchildren asked nicely; posted as a chapter here instead of its own thing because it doesn't work on its own.

She’s like something out of a fairytale, the woman currently curled around him. Hair a mess, skin inexplicably smelling like blueberry pie, oversized t-shirt and jeans still dotted with yellow paint from when he decided to paint her bathroom last summer and she tried to “help” - this is his idea of perfection, and he’s not sure how long he can last before his feelings for her get in the way of their beautiful friendship. In all likelihood, it’s a matter of minutes.

On some level, he’s loved Octavia since the day she fell apart in his arms, the very hour they met. He was fighting a war in his heart, harder then than it is now, and she helped him find the strength to break through. She is his heart in a separate body, so oblivious to her own glory, a tenacious wisp of a woman who fights so hard for herself, for her daughter… for  _him_ sometimes, though he’s still not used to it. Going on four years and he’s still not used to it, and he figures that’s not likely to change anytime soon. Their relationship hinges on their mutual lack of expectations, and he’s every bit in awe of her now as he was that very first moment when he saw her bittersweet eyes and felt the remains of his heart break into microscopic pieces.

There’s just one problem - that isn’t  _really_  how their history began. It’s the story she knows, sweet and innocent and good and all the things she deserves, but their real beginning was almost four months earlier, and lately Lincoln has been remembering it far too well. She was beautiful, she kissed him, she let him fuck her and gods her nectar tasted like heaven and home but that was supposed to be  _it_. There were others like her, other women he entwined with during those first few months, but she was the one who stood out. She was the one who reappeared in his orbit several months later, she was the one who imprinted on him. And she was the one who announced a pregnancy at  _exactly_  the right time for everything to line up, and it’s taken him far too long to admit it but there is a very very good chance that the little pixie with his eyes and his warm brown skin is… well,  _his_. Better late than never?

Kaylee is not the problem; Kaylee is three, thank you very much, and will never need to know the exact details of how she came to be. No, the problem is that Octavia doesn’t know - or if she does, she’s never said as much - and that’s one hell of an elephant and he’s done with that silence. Before he can let himself have her the way he wants to have her, the way he’s pretty sure she wants him too, they need to talk about where they’ve already been.

The words are harder than he expects, and he watches to see the kindness slip away from her but it doesn’t happen. If anything, it’s like he’s seeing for the first time how loyal and accepting she is. This sweet perfect throwaway girl, her shaking hands on his skin, has been his guiding light from the first moment he saw her. Why would she ever stop now? Too much history, too much stubbornness, and he loves her all the more for it.

“I’m not sure how we happened. I’m not sure how my kid happened, but she’s asleep in the other room and she’s  _happy_  and I think we’re doing this thing okay and… and god, this isn’t how I planned to tell you but I’m kinda falling in love with you.”

She kisses him then, and she’s electric, and he barely gets the chance to cup her face in his hands when his brain overloads with what feel like repressed memories.

_Her, bloody at the bottom of a steep hill._

_Her, taking a knife to her skinny wrist to ensure his salvation._

_Her, laid out by a fire, howling her pleasure as they writhe together._

_Other images too, a whole life of memories, but he can only focus on the woman he loves as they pulse through his mind._

_Her, the last thought before a needle pierces his skin._

_Her, the first sight after temporary death, face puffy with sadness and the most beautiful thing his haunted eyes have ever beheld._

_Her, telling him over and over again that she will always choose him and she has absolute faith in him._

_Her, tensing with fear as he all but tackles her to give her one more moment of safety as an explosion hits._

There aren’t words after that. Lincoln isn’t normally talkative in the first place, but Octavia brings out a side of him that doesn’t exist outside the safety of her home. Except not now, because this is too much, because his mind can’t handle it and not even she can solve that problem.

“We survived,” he breathes, holding her as close as he can without hurting her. “We’re the lucky ones.”

His past self had heard stories like this, some of the more fanciful tales about why technology was evil. As a child, he hadn’t quite believed it; now, he’s starting to wonder. But that can wait until the morning, he decides, kissing Octavia’s forehead as he lifts her up and carries her to her bed.  _Their_  bed, maybe? No, that’s too much to hope for just yet, but he can’t let go of her like this and there’s enough space on the too-soft mattress for their particular pair of bodies. He can’t let go, and maybe he never will again.

She’s always held his hand as they’ve walked out of the darkness together, and he just hopes she’ll be able to do it one last time.

**Author's Note:**

> All will be revealed in time, I promise.
> 
> 'Verse is functioning as a series of oneshots 'cause I know some of you will be more invested in certain ships than others and because there's initially not a lot of overlap in plots, but there's a plan here. Sorta. (I know how everything happened and how it works. Just not sure how *everyone* fits in yet.)
> 
> Also huuuuge thanks to @queenofchildren, @wannabanauthor, and @kateera for helping me make sense of this ridiculous idea and encouraging me to start it with this bit instead of the other option. (You will love them for this. Just wait.)


End file.
